Rain in LA
by Celli
Summary: Vaughn/Sydney smut and (being me) moodiness.
1. Low Pressure System

Feedback: Positive or negative both welcome. celli@fanfic101.com  
Category: Romance (S/V), challenge fic  
Rating: R  
Spoilers: Nothing major. I'd say up to and including "The Solution" just   
to be on the safe side.  
Summary: Vaughn/Sydney smut and (being me) moodiness.  
Archiving: Credit Dauphine and my site (www.fanfic101.com); otherwise   
just tell me so I can come visit.  
Disclaimer: Alias belongs to JJ Abrams, ABC, and various other people   
with lawyers. Sadly, this means Vaughn will never be mine.   
  
Notes: Most of this was written before "Rendevous," so you can consider   
it to take place in a mildly AU future. As always, much thanks to my beta   
readers--JenC, Lizbet, and Gail, who had never even seen the show before   
she read this for me. :)  
  
***  
  
Rain in LA  
Part One: Low Pressure System  
by Celli Lane  
  
***  
  
Low pressure systems have different intensities with some producing a   
gentle rain while others produce hurricane force winds and a massive   
deluge...  
  
***  
  
"It never rains in LA," Sydney said.  
  
My head was on her shoulder, with one hand tracing the smooth skin of   
her side. "Sure it does. Once every ten years." I stopped on a scar   
that I think came from a knife wound the year before we met; my fingers   
skimmed back and forth over it.  
  
I could feel her breath hitch on a laugh as I bumped over the scar.   
"Okay."  
  
"Besides...I kind of like it." I did. It was a soft rain, no harsh   
wind or thunder accompanying it, and it was a constant percussion   
against the roof of my apartment. "It reminds me of Seattle."  
  
She went still for just a second, but I'm obsessed with her. I noticed.   
"Oh."  
  
"Sydney?" I propped myself up on one elbow to look at her. "What?"  
  
"Nothing!" She smiled brightly at me, but--I mentioned the obsession,   
right?--I immediately recognized Fake Work Smile #4.  
  
"Sydney."  
  
She sighed. "Really. Just--I've never been to Seattle. I've been to   
Kenya and Uzbekistan, but never Washington State."  
  
"Lots of people have never been to Washington."  
  
"I was accepted to a couple of universities there. But I wanted to go   
to UCLA because my mother did."  
  
There was a long pause while we both worked through the implications of   
that. Never being recruited by SD-6, never meeting Danny, never meeting   
me...I laid my head back on her shoulder. "Seattle's nice," I said into   
her collarbone. "But I like LA. Rain or no rain."  
  
Another long pause, while she toyed with my fingers underneath the   
covers. "Vaughn?" she said finally.  
  
"Yes?" I thought briefly about nibbling on her shoulder. We had at   
least an hour before Francie was expecting her back at the apartment,   
and I--  
  
"Do you miss Alice?"  
  
"Wha--what?" No nibbling. Possibly ever.  
  
She shifted a little, dislodging me from her shoulder. "Do you miss   
her?" *Do you miss your old life,* she didn't say.  
  
"Sometimes," I said after a long pause. "She was...special."  
  
More shifting. "It must be nice to have someone outside of work. I   
mean, someone who knows what you do but isn't part of it."  
  
I smiled. "Did I ever tell you how I met Alice?"  
  
"No..."  
  
"At work."  
  
"What?"  
  
"She was a new computer tech in our office. Unfortunately, her first   
day was the same day my new secretary started."  
  
"Assistant," Sydney corrected. She's never met Donna, my current   
assistant, but they seem to have developed a bond anyway.  
  
"Sorry, assistant."  
  
"And you thought Alice was your new--?"  
  
"Yes," I said hastily. "And it didn't go well."  
  
"What did you do?"  
  
I rolled over and buried my head in the pillow. "Mmmmf."  
  
Sydney was giggling. She poked at my shoulder. "Vaughn, what did you   
*do* to the poor girl?"  
  
I rolled back over, trying to hide a grin. "Poor girl? Why do you   
assume she got the worst of it?"  
  
Her eyes were dancing. "What happened?"  
  
I heaved a long sigh. "Let me just say first that I was having a really   
bad day, and I'd had a couple of awful sec--assistants."  
  
"Yeah, uh-huh."  
  
"They were!"  
  
She lifted an eyebrow. "Go on. You were having a bad day..."  
  
"I'd left this long detailed note about how to work the coffeemaker."   
That set off another round of giggles. "I like good coffee, should I   
apologize for it?"  
  
An eloquent silence followed. My views on properly made coffee are oft-  
repeated--and oft-mocked.  
  
"*So.* I walk into my office and there's a cup of coffee on the desk,   
and a woman sitting at my computer. What am I supposed to think?"  
  
Sydney was shaking with suppressed laughter. "The wrong thing, I   
assume."  
  
"I took one drink--and let me tell you, it was awful coffee. Sugar in   
it up to--" I held my hand up to my eyebrows. "It was *bad* coffee,   
Syd, I'm telling you."  
  
"And so you said..."  
  
I sighed again. Then I said in the flattest monotone I could muster,   
"This coffee tastes horrible. I thought you knew the way I liked it. Now   
go get me a new cup and make it quick."  
  
Sydney exploded with laughter. I covered my face with both hands.  
  
"Oh, God," Sydney said after a moment. "I think I broke something   
laughing. You didn't say it like that, though, right?" She pried my   
hands from my eyes.  
  
"No, as I recall there were more exclamation points and...you   
know...swear words." Sydney started laughing again, so I rushed through   
the rest of the story. "And of course it was her coffee...and my brand   
new Pentium computer ran slower than a calculator for six months. Alice   
was good at revenge."  
  
Sydney's giggles had subsided to the occasional snuffle. She wiped her   
eyes. "So how did you end up dating Alice? I know the CIA   
has...rules..." Rules we were currently violating by being naked in my   
bed.  
  
"She got a job working for a local insurance agency. Much better money,   
and apparently cranky insurance adjusters are easier to deal with than   
cranky intelligence officers. So I sent her flowers and a bag of coffee   
beans..." I shrugged. "And the rest is history."  
  
"How long were you together?"  
  
"A year, year and a half."  
  
"And you miss her."  
  
"Sometimes," I repeated. I knew what I wanted to say, but I struggled   
for the words. "I miss *her.* I don't miss being with her."  
  
I moved to kiss her, but she dropped back onto her pillow and kept her   
face turned away from me. The anger came more quickly than the laughter   
had, but I closed my eyes against the blame I wanted to heap on her.   
She never moved as I grabbed my jeans off the floor and stalked away.  
  
My apartment has an opening that only an optimist or a real estate agent   
would call a balcony. I stood on it anyway, letting the rain soak my   
hair and my jeans and run coolly between my toes.  
  
*Yeah,* I thought. *I miss her. I miss being the focus of someone's   
attention--is that so bad? I miss hearing "Michael" from a woman's   
lips. Damn it, with Alice I would say goodbye to her in the morning and   
know she'd still be alive when I saw her that night. Don't I get to   
miss that?*  
  
Some days, I try so hard not to push my feelings on Sydney, I'm as flat   
and falsely sweet as Alice's coffee. I want to scream at her when she   
calls me "Vaughn" in that cool voice, when she comes back from a mission   
with bruises and cuts--and someday it's going to be a bullet wound, if   
my nightmares are any indication.  
  
I walked back to the bed, pushing my dripping hair away from my   
forehead. I squished a little when I sat on the bed, and Sydney looked   
up at me with a tentative smile on her face.  
  
"I have to be back in a little while," she said.  
  
"Not too soon, I hope." I bent and kissed the side of her neck, and she   
shivered where my wet skin touched hers. Her arms came around my neck.  
  
"No, not too soon."  
  
***  
  
Coming next: Part Two, "Warm Front," a.k.a "Celli tries to write from a   
non-Vaughn POV." *gasp* 


	2. Warm Front

Rain in LA  
Part Two: Warm Front  
by Celli Lane  
  
***  
  
...the cold air ahead of a warm front at the surface must retreat before   
warm air can move in. Sometimes, cold air is very stubborn and hard to   
move, which slows the warm front down...  
  
***  
  
I could see Michael standing on his balcony. He looked beautiful...and   
miserable.  
  
He left Alice. Because of me. For me? He avoided his friends so he   
wouldn't have to lie about the time he spent with me. Of all the   
sacrifices he'd made since I'd known him--the people, the thought of them, scared me the most.  
  
He gave up the people he depended on so that I could depend on him. How   
warped and dysfunctional and, dammit, *Vaughn,* is that?  
  
He walked back in. I watched the water drip down his arms. I used to   
have fantasies about those arms, and I'll never tell him that when he   
rolls up his CIA-sanctioned shirtsleeves I lose track of whatever   
conversation we're having.  
  
He sat on the bed, looking down at me. I tried to smile at him. "I   
have to be back in a little while." *Great, Sydney. That ought to   
inject a little romance into the--*  
  
"Not too soon, I hope." His lips were on my neck, and he leaned more   
firmly into me. The water on his skin made it stick to mine, and I had   
a brief image of the outline of his body burned onto me.  
  
"No, not too soon," I said through the heat building in my throat. My   
arms were around him--although I didn't remember moving them--and the   
rain made my hands slip in and out of his hair.  
  
I kissed the top of his head as he moved down to my breast. He smelled   
like rain. He smelled wonderful.  
  
His mouth closed around one nipple. I bit down on the stream of   
encouragement trying to come from my mouth. I learned a long time ago--  
sometime between Noah and Danny--not to talk unless I was in control,   
and I was definitely not--  
  
I felt his hands slide down beneath my hips and turn me until my legs   
fell off the bed. I pushed up to an almost-sitting position and saw him   
kneel between my legs. He was still wearing his wet jeans. I was   
helplessly aware that he was staring at my naked body.  
  
Then he looked up at me, and I thought about what he was seeing--eyes   
wide, mouth open, hair spilling down my back, knees next to his   
shoulders.  
  
He smiled. I watched him lean forward and press an open-mouthed kiss to   
the center of my stomach. His hands tightened on my hips; I dropped my   
hands to cover his. I lay back and closed my eyes. The tremors   
started somewhere inside my bones even before he lowered his mouth to me   
again.  
  
***  
  
"Sydney?"  
  
I was still lying the wrong way across the bed. Michael's arms came   
around me from behind.  
  
"Sydney, are you--"  
  
"I'm sorry." I squeezed my eyes shut until I could see rainbows behind   
them, but the tears still escaped. "I should go."  
  
"You're crying." He had that helpless male tone that would have made me   
laugh under other conditions. "I made you cry."  
  
"No."  
  
"Sydney, please--" I opened my eyes and saw the panicked look on his   
face. "Don't cry because of me. For work, for your dad--I never wanted   
to make you cry."  
  
"You didn't make me cry. It's just--" I fought, but the sobs were   
coming faster and faster. "I'm so, so sorry, Michael. For everything."  
  
I heard his breath catch, and he pulled me up until my face was pressed   
to his chest. He let me cry until I trailed off into little sniffles   
while he smoothed my hair back and talked nonsense into my ear.  
  
When I was all finished, he'd somehow managed to get both of us under   
the covers. I twisted my head so I could look at him. "Thanks."  
  
He smiled a little. "*I'm* not sorry, okay, Sydney? I'm--I'm just   
not."  
  
He pulled me back against him. I could hear him breathing and above that,   
the rain. I rested my head on his shoulder and told myself I believed him.  
  
--the end-- 


End file.
